I Hate Haunted Houses
by Caelieth
Summary: Written in response to a prompt meme. Dean is injured, Sam freaks a little, or a lot. Contains mild Wincest.


The Prompt: Sam/Dean. I'd like to see Sam just totally babying a sick!Dean, rubbing his back and waiting on him hand and foot. Maybe after Mystery Spot or another time Dean has almost died, to make it more in character, I don't even care. I just want the delicious schmoopy comfort! ^_-

Title: I Hate Haunted Houses

Author: Cae

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: PG-13 (ish)

"You know before? When I said how much I hate haunted houses?"

Sam looked behind him, down to where his brother was following him up the dusty old staircase. "Yeah?"

The step creaked ominously under dean's weight as he wiped banister-debris on his jean-clad thigh. "Well I'd like to reiterate. I hate haunted houses."

"Duly noted," Sam smiled and continued his ascent.

Sam resisted the urge to ask Dean how he was feeling, knowing he'd just receive a glare for his trouble. Not that he could blame his brother, really. Sam had become a little over-protective with Dean since their ill-fated investigation into The Mystery Spot. Having spent all those months watching Dean die and then ultimately having to continue on without him, Sam was reluctant to let the older man out of his sights.

And he was totally justified in hovering outside the curtain while his brother showered. Dean broke his damn neck in one!

Sam grinned to himself. He'd gotten away with that particular freak-out 'cause Dean assumed that Sam's constant peeking around the curtain had more to do with him checking out dean's ass than watching out for it.

Not that he was doing that.

Much.

Whatever. He could multi-task.

An exceptionally loud sneeze behind him brought Sam sharply back to the present.

They'd fought for an hour about tonight's hunt. Dean had been sneezing up a storm ever since their all night stint in a rain-soaked graveyard a couple of nights ago.

The argument had mostly consisted of Sam reasoning that the ghost/poltergeist/beast/demon/whatever wasn't going anywhere and could wait an extra night while Dean rested; Dean insisting he was fine and accusing Sam of being a big girl; Sam threatening to cut their sex life, then immediately relenting at Dean's horrified expression... All culminating in two tylenol and a reluctant promise from Dean to rest up once they'd finished.

"You alright?"

"God's sake Sammy, I'm fine!" Dean huffed, leaning on the top rail. "I'm not gonna die from sneezing."

*WATCHOO!*

The momentum from that particularly vicious sneeze propelled Dean forwards onto the dusty old bannister, which unfortunately decided that anything heavier than a spider was too much to cope with and splintered with a resounding *crack*; sending Dean hurtling towards the ground floor.

"Oh my God! Dean!!"

The hunter landed with an 'oomph' on his back, sending dust flying in all directions as Sam pounded rapidly down the stairs.

"I really need to learn to shut up," Dean groaned.

"Ya think?"

"Sammy, 'm ok," he sighed as Sam began examining his body, running his large hands over Dean's torso, legs and neck.

"Does this hurt?" he inquired, poking his finger into Dean's ribs.

"Ow! Yes it hurts! Quit doing it!"

"We need to get you out of here."

Dean couldn't bring himself to put up even a token resitance. Every bone in his body was aching from the impact and his head felt as if it was going to explode at any minute.

He didn't even manage to get out a "what the Hell?" when Sam was suddenly slammed against the large oak front door, before the sadistically grinning features of a deathly-white middle-aged woman filled his vision.

"Oh...This can't be good," Dean whispered, trying desperately to merge with the floor beneath him in an effort to back away from the advancing apparition.

Dark, vengeful eyes glittered in the dim light as the figure ran its bony fingers down Dean's torso.

"Um...Heh, no offense, 'cause you're obviously a...a looker," Dean stuttered, grimacing at the practically toothless grin he received in response. "But I have a rule of only sharing my bed with people who have a heart beat."

A loud bang from behind him signalled the ghost's temporary demise and it shattered into oblivion above him.

Craning his head back, Dean blanched a little at the expression on his brother's face.

"You only share your bed with people who have a heart beat..." Sam began, raising his eyebrows and setting his still smoking gun down on to the floor beside him.

"...And are called Sam."

"Mhmm," Sam replied smugly. "Let's get you out of here before Casanova's ugly sister comes back."

"What about the body?" Dean questioned as his brother helped him unsteadily to his feet.

"Later. First priority is to get you checked out. She ain't goin' anywhere."

* * *

The darkness and relative quiet of the motel room was broken abruptly when the door crashed open, Sam staggering slightly under Dean's almost dead weight.

"Nearly there," Sam puffed and laid his brother gently down on the nearest bed.

"Sorry Sammy," Dean sighed, sitting up and attempting to remove his jacket.

Sam batted his hands away and set to the task himself.

"Sorry for what?"

"For ow!"

Sam glanced down, only now seeing the large piece of broken wood embedded in the skin of Dean's right hand. He'd obviously jostled it trying to remove the dusty jacket.

"Crap! Hold on, I'll go get the medkit. Sorry for what?"

"Hmm?" Dean winced, tugging ineffectually at the piece of wood. "Oh...Sorry for the whole, y'know, getting my ass injured and making you virtually carry me home."

Sam returned, dumping the first aid box on the bed.

"If you weren't already covered in bruises I'd smack you. Dumbass."

"What? I'm trying to...OW!" Dean yelped and glared at his brother who was proudly waving the now evacuated splinter. "Damn! That's an Oak tree."

"Okay, we need to get you naked and clean so I can see what I'm doing here."

"Awww Sammy," Dean grinned coyly, "if you wanted to get me naked, you only had to ask."

His attempt at flirting was cut off abruptly by a loud sneeze. "I really hate haunted houses," Dean sniffed miserably.

------------

"Sammy, seriously?" Dean huffed. He was currently dripping wet and being carried back to bed by his stubborn brother.

"Dean, you lost your balance in there and would have cracked your damn head open if I hadn't caught you! So quit your bitching and deal with it."

"'Mnot a baby," the older man pouted.

"Humour me."

Dean sighed (a little contentedly, though he'd never admit that out loud) as Sam gently deposited him on the bed.

The myriad bruising stood out more prominantly on Dean's body now that the dust and debris had been washed away.

Dean blanched a little at the almost raw distress shining from his brother's eyes.

"Hey, it's okay Sam," he soothed, reaching out for the younger man's hand. "I'm okay."

"You could've been..." Sam tried, swallowing convulsively in an effort to stave off the tears welling up inside.

He reached over, fingers lightly brushing against a patch of deep purple mottling on Dean's shoulder.

"I can't lose you again," he whispered, breathing out a shuddering sigh and meeting Dean's gaze with his own. "You have no idea I..."

"I have some.

Sam nodded, his fingers moving to trace a large, bloody cut on his brother's brow. Dean had held Sam's lifeless body after watching him die. Yeah...He'd give him that one.

"I know...I know you hate this. Hate feeling as if you're a burden, weak...I know that okay?" Sam said softly, cupping his brother's stubbled cheek and gazing into those beloved green eyes. "But you have to understand Dean, I watched you die over and over and...There was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing. I felt so damn helpless. So you have to give me this. You have to let me help you."

Dean sighed raggedly and reached up to stroke his brother's face. "I know Sammy," he said softly. "It's alright, I know. I know."

Sam leaned over, pressing three quick kisses to Dean's lips and resting their foreheads together. "Thank you."

"You can thank me later when I'm bitching at you for the fiftieth bowl of chicken soup in a row and complaining of bedsores 'cause you won't let me move."

"Oh! Chicken soup! Dean, you should have told me you were hungry. Wait right there, don't move! I'll go to the store. Shall I get crackers? You always loved crackers with your soup..."

Dean watched his brother's tall form as Sam darted around the room, changing his shirt as he grabbed his wallet and keys from the table.

"Okay, you don't move an inch til I get back. Here's the remote for the TV, here's some tissues in case you need to sneeze, wastepaper bin in case you feel sick. DO NOT go to sleep, you might have a mild concussion. Promise me you'll keep awake?"

"I promise I'll..."

"Okay good. I'll be like five minutes I swear."

Sam leaned down and planted a firm kiss on Dean's lips. "If I come back to find you've moved for whatever reason..."

Dean very nearly asked "what if a demon attack?" but thought better of it. That'd just send Sam into full panic mode.

"Right. I'll be back in a minute."

"Beer?"

"No," Sam replied firmly, stopping at the door and turning stern eyes on his brother.

Dean countered by looking up at Sam through his long lashes and schooling his expression into the most pathetic one he could muster, which admittedly wasn't that difficult given the circumstances.

"Okay fine," Sam wilted. "But only one."

Dean grinned in triumph as the door closed behind Sam. He was probably going to regret giving in by the end of the night, but for now he decided that being loved and cared for by his mother hen of a younger brother might not be such a bad thing after all.


End file.
